The Shire Wars
by tdub585
Summary: The goblins have suffered too many defeats and embarrassments at the hands of the hobbits, and 30 years after the War of the Rings they come for revenge. Please Rate and Review, the support really helps!
1. Grave News

The goblins hadn't and never would forget their loss to the Halflings of the Shire. More than once their race had been defeated. Frustratingly enough for the goblins, the Hobbits were not a war-like race; in fact, they almost detested war. More than enough goblins caved revenge against the Shire-folk, but more so after the one known as Frodo Baggins destroyed the one ring, once again scattering them, just as they were regaining some of their former power. First it was Bullroarer Took, and then Bilbo with the Dwarves, and then Frodo; the last straw.

In the last thirty years after the War of the Ring, the goblins had multiplied in great numbers, but the Great Goblin himself had no desire to make an attack on their foes, an attack on those responsible for the destruction on their once great civilization.

There was a great rebellion under all the mountains, in all the goblin strongholds, and the usurpers took control. In no time at all, messengers were sent to all of the goblin chieftains; they were to organize all their forces in the dark forest of Mirkwood. There they would destroy the few remaining elves, and then they would move on, killing and razing everything in their path to the Shire. People would learn to fear them once again.

Important to know; after the War of the Ring, and after the Hobbits returned home, adventurism wasn't ridiculed as it was in earlier times. It took a while, but after a few years of Sam, Merry, and Pippin telling was stories in the Green Dragon, the other Shire-folk became accustomed to the idea that adventures could be a wonder.

The afternoon found three aging hobbits sitting around a table at the Green Dragon, remembering the old days when Frodo was still one of their number.

"What do you suppose became of Mr. Frodo?" Samwise Gamgee asked the party.

It was a common question, but they never got tired of asking and answering it.

"I suppose he's off living with the elves, in whatever home they made off for. He's probably sitting around a table with friends, rather like us," Pippin said distantly.

As Merry was about to put forth his speculation, the door to the pub burst open and a handful of out-of-breath hobbits came trotting in, all trying to speak at the same time.

"One at a time, please. We can't understand you when you're all talking at once!" Sam said merrily. The only time hobbits were in such a hurry to give news was when something happy was about, such as a party.

They all stopped talking at once and took some time to catch their breath, but soon enough one of them, a short sandy haired boy spoke up.

"Elves, sir. Elves have been spotted crossing the border. The shiriffs sent us to tell you!"

"Elves? Bless my heart, it been many years since I've seen the fair-folk. Always meant to visit…" Sam said quietly to himself.

"You know the elves, if the stories are true; what does it mean?" Asked another inquisitive hobbit.

"I don't right know. It could be any number of things. Perhaps they make for the harbor on the other side of our borders," Sam replied. He however, wasn't so sure. Many years ago, thirty to be exact, the last ship left Middle-Earth, and his Master, Gandalf, Lord Elrond, and the Lady Galadriel went with it. The memory of their parting brought tears to his eyes.

"A welcoming party is in order, do you think?" Merry suggested.

"Let's show these elves some Shire hospitality," Pippin agreed.

Sam, Pippin, and Merry stood and made their way out the door and under bright midsummer sun. They walked slowly in the direction of Bag-End, where the elves would come into the Shire on a near path.

"If only my armor still fit me, then I would show them that we are no simple folk," Pippin said sadly.

"And my armor too, though I dare say I could still fit in it if the time called," Merry agreed.

Sam's mind wandered to the mithril shirt and Sting, which were bestowed upon him by Frodo before his departure. He didn't say anything, but he secretly wished he had them on him, though why he could not say.

They had passed several Hobbits, who the whole time were wondering what the three were up to.

"What's goin' on there?" One shouted as they passed.

They just shrugged their shoulders and continued on their way.

Soon they came to Bag-End, and they could see not too far way on the path, a small company of elves quickly making their way towards them.

The elves stopped momentarily, and one pointed in their direction before continuing on.

Only after a couple minutes walking, they two groups same face-to-face. These elves were not in good health. Several of them were bruised and bloodied, and hosted cuts on their bodies, and one they could not see, for he was shrouded in a white cloak and a hood was thrown over his face.

"Greetings Hobbits," one elf said. "I am afraid we bring no good news this day."

"Well what's happened?" Merry asked impatiently.

"We must be some place quiet before we can explain. Do you have such a place?"

"Do you suppose they'll clear out of the Green Dragon for us?" Merry wondered.

"Well it's worth a shot; it's the only place around that's big enough to hold our numbers." Sam said.

So they began the walk back to their starting place, making better time than they had on the way down. There was no talk other than one of the more beat up elves asking about the Green Dragon.

Luckily for the hobbits and elves, the Green Dragon was empty when they got there, except for the barmaid. She immediately left the pub, sensing the need for privacy.

"I hope this will work for you," Sam said. "It's the best we can do here."

"This will be fine," said one particularly beat up elf, who seemed to be the leader of the elf. "Grave news indeed; the goblins are marching on the Shire. They've burned their way through everything in their path. The Mirkwood kingdom has fallen, and so has Rivendell. You must flee without delay."

"Flee? We can't flee; the Shire is our home! Where would we go?" Sam burst out.

"Anywhere but here. These goblins will stop at nothing!"

"But why here," Pippin asked. "Why the Shire?"

"We do not know," said another elf sadly.

"I will not leave the Shire. I will fight to my dying breath," Sam said stubbornly.

"Then I, Legolas of the Mirkwood realm, shall die with you!" And the hooded elf threw off his hood, and it was indeed Legolas.

The hobbits' eyes filled with wonder and tears at the sight of the old friend. They were sure they were to never lay eyes on his fair face again, and here he was, once again pledging to defend them as he had done before.

"My dear friends! How I've missed you!" Legolas cried. "Unfortunately these dark times will not allow us to catch up; if you mean to fight, we must prepare."


	2. Hobbits To Arms!

"You mean it?" Sam said, doubtful.

"Of course he means it!" Pippin said.

"Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli chased us, how far, when the Uruks took us?" Merry said. "They even went into the Fangorn after us!"

"If you truly mean to fight, you can't do it by yourselves. Five of our number, including I, are from Mirkwood, and we will stand by you."

"And I, Núrild of Rivendell, pledge my men to your cause," the previous thought elf leader said.

"We thank you for your gracious offer," Sam said. "But we are old, and we cannot fight like we once could; you would surely die with us."

"So we shall."

"We are not alone though; messengers have been sent to the dwarves, and the men of Rohan and Gondor," Núrild said.

"What are the chances though, of them making it here in time to save us?" Sam asked.

"Not high. It's not known whether our messengers will make it, however hard they ride. The goblins are numerous, and come from all direction. They could be intercepted and killed," Núrild said. "And if they make it, it would be a long time before help comes, should they choose to help at all."

"For now, my friends, you must rally the hobbit-folk, and send those who would not fight to safety", Legolas began. "We passed through Bree on our way here, and they have agreed to come to your aid, as well as to send word to the other hobbit residences around."

"This is good news! We may have a chance yet!" Pippin said gaily.

"Any numbers of hobbits have small chance against the goblins. They are a war-like race, and their numbers are far greater than all the hobbits in the world," another elf said.

"But now, spread the news without delay; you may yet muster enough help to hold the first wave at bay," Núrild ordered.

"First wave?"

"They underestimate the hobbits' abilities. They will not attack at full force initially; first they will send raiding parties. Now go!"

The hobbits hopped to their feet and made their way to the door.

"Sam, you must come with us," Legolas said. "The others must go on their own for now.

Merry and Pippin gave Sam a look, and at his nod, they departed.

"Sam, you must show us to the smith; sticks and stones will not win this war. We must have swords, and spears."

"Right, follow me!" Sam said.

They made haste to the smith, which was on the far side, next to the mill. The smith himself was gone, but the elves immediately took over.

"Ore!" One elf shouted.

As Sam was standing there watching the elves work a hand was laid on his shoulder. Sam looked up to see Legolas towering over him.

"Now you must go and assist your friends," he said.

"Yes, sir," Sam said, and he left.

He went from door to door, and he told the men to go to the smith to be armed, and he told the women and children to make for safety. Many did not believe his claims, but went nonetheless, lest the claims be true and they stranded without defense.

After knocking on what felt like a hundred round doors, he came to the last house separating him from Merry and Pippin, who had been working their way toward him.

"This kind of work was much easier thirty years ago," Pippin wheezed. "We brought these though."

He and Merry, over their shoulders both had a large bag. They gave them a shake, and several clinks were to be heard. Their armor must have been in the bags, because they both had a sword at their side.

"And these belong to you," Merry said. He set his bag on the ground and fished out Sam's mithril shirt and Sting, the elven dagger.

"Rosie?"

"On her way to safety."

Sam nodded. "Back to the smithy, then."

It had been several hours since the hobbits has been assigned to their tasks, and when they made it back to the smithy they were struggling for breath. The elves excellent iron-working ability had already created a large number of spears and swords for the hobbit army. There was a huge crowd of male hobbits already, and they were picking through the weapons, trying to find one of the right weight and size. A large number of them were taking a spear, because it felt somewhat like a walking stick, but most of the shorter hobbits were taking swords.

"Why do we need this many spears?" Sam asked Núrild, fighting his way through the crowd. "Many goblins use bows, and spears would slow us down too much."

"These goblins ride wargs, the great and evil wolves. If they get close, they will rip you to shreds," Núrild replied without looking up from the sword he was forging. "You best find a weapon, Master Gamgee."

"I have Sting," Sam said in reply. "I need no other weapon."

"To the stables with you then. Round up some help and bring as many back as you can find."

"I need volunteers!" Sam shouted, working his way back out of the crowd.

A number of round fifteen hobbits turned and followed Sam.

"Where are we heading off to?" asked a young, strong hobbit.

"Bergin!" Sam said in disbelief. "Does your father know you're here?"

"I'm old enough to make this decision on my own," Bergin, son of Meriadoc Brandybuck, said.

"Well come on then." Sam was in too much of a hurry to worry now. He would talk to Merry later.

It was only a short walk to the stables. There were only ten ponies, so while a few led them back to the smithy, the others carried the saddles and bridles.

"Where can more ore be found?" Asked Núrild when they returned.

"I suppose we could melt down some pots and pans or such."

"Yes. Good idea."

"Everybody needs to go to their home and bring back all the pots and pans they can carry!" Sam, Merry and Pippin called to the crowd. The crowd immediately dispered.


	3. War Is Nigh

It pained Sam to do so as he dearly loves his pots and pans, but the need situation was dire and there was nothing to do for it; he quickly began tossing his large pile of metal into the furnace, where it would be melted down and forged into needed weapons, and possible armor of a sort.

"Quickly now everybody! We haven't much time!" the elves were calling to the crowd.

"We don't have time at all!" came the voice of an unseen being.

Everybody looked around and spotted a man riding a chestnut horse, coming from the direction of Bag-End. There were no men in the Shire though, so it was assumed he came from Bree.

"I've come as quick as I can; great wolves we spotted not ten miles from Bree, coming this way!"

"How long ago did you see this?" Núrild asked hastily.

"A day ago, only," the man replied.

"What speed are they making?"

"They ride like the wind and stop for nothing!"

" This is bad news indeed; we have had no time to prepare," Legolas said, walking to stand next to Núrild. "These hobbits have had no time to prepare for what's to come."

"There is nothing to be done for it; they have only to learn by experience now," Núrild said. And then he raised his voice for all to hear. "Hobbits! They enemy are nigh! You must now show a level of courage not oft seen in this age. Think of your family, and your homes. You are all that is in the way of their destruction and death. Now hobbits must once again prove themselves!"

There were many hearty cheers, and yet as many sad cries for hearing this. Disbelievers to the last were made to believe, and this they did not want. They knew that not all would live, as it has always been in war.

"Sam, Merry, Pippin; come," Legolas said softly. He led them away from the muster. "This fight is not yours, I am sorry; your time has passed. You must go with the others who fled to safety."

"There can be no argument here," Legolas said, cutting off their protests.

"I think I knew all along it would come to us being thrown away," Pippin said miserably.

"We are not thrown away," Sam said. "Legolas was right and we would just be in the way. We are old now Pip, we can't do things like we used to."

"Why couldn't we stay on as advisors," Pippin asked wistfully. "We've seen battles; we could help!"

"We could do nothing that the elves couldn't do better," Merry interjected.

Pippin sighed, and they continued on the journey to the Grey Havens in silence.

"Hobbits! To the road!" Núrild shouted. "Legolas! Your charges to the left! Dúnovain, to the right! The rest with me!"

Legolas' took his hobbits, which were the smallest of the army, to the left of the road where the trees were thickest, and had them all either take cover behind the trees, or lay flat in the tall grass of the ditch. Across the road, Dúnovain took his force to the right of the road a ways into the field where the wheat was yet tall. They did not take cover though but instead stood in open view. Núrild's hobbits, who were the biggest and bravest from the bunch, stood in the center of the road.

The plan that the elves had conceived was this; the wargs would carry the goblins down the road, which was quicker than cutting country. The goblins would first see the hobbits in the center of the road and charge then full speed wearing out their steeds some in the process. Once they got closer though, they would see the hobbits in the field, who from afar would be hard to spot in the field and at first glance appear to be many scarecrows. When they are spotted, hopefully the riders will split and attack both groups. When that happened the smaller hobbits led by Legolas would break cover and surround the forces attacking Dúnovain's group. If all went according to plan there, Dúnovain and Legolas would quickly come to the aid of Núrild.

Just as the last hobbit took his position the wargs popped over the hill. They immediately spotted Núrild, and as the plan was set, they let their rage take over and they charged without a though.

Wargs were big beasts to a man, but to a hobbit they seemed hopeless to fight even. There was only a number of around one thousand and five hundred hobbits in the current army and they were a mix of men and strong women, a low number from the count of near five thousand that inhabited the Shire and surrounding area.

We do not have enough soldiers and weapons to hold of this force; we are going to die…all of us. There is no hope!" Cried one young hobbit boy. He cast his spear to the ground and collapsed in a fit of hopelessness.

"Come young master; hope is not yet lost," said the man though to be from Bree. His name was Hungolin.

"Hope is lost from the beginning of this affair," the hobbit Groso, wept.

"You are young, that I can see," began Hungolin. "But if you won't fight for what you love, who will? Already your hopelessness spreads."

Hungolin did not lie; as Groso looked about him he saw many fearful eyes looking his way. Through his fear, his courage broke through like a ram on a gate of oak. He picked up his spear, lowered it and braced himself for the inescapable barrage of warg and goblin. The others took heart from this, and they too steeled themselves.

Núrild said, "The enemy is upon us; this you can all see. Do not fear for your lives, but instead fear for the lives of your family if you should fail here. You are brave, but you must be strong and fight! The evil must not pass through here!"

And with that the first pack of wargs descended on them, and simultaneously the second pack waylaid Dúnovain.


	4. The Ememy Is Upon Us

Groso lowered his spear and braced the butt of it to the ground. A split second later the line of warg riders fell upon them, and the weight of the great beasts pushed the hobbits back. The goblins riding the wargs were clad in scant armor, and had only small swords in order to keep a light burden. They slashed right and left, but their attacks were useless as the hobbits were too low to the ground.

Groso saw a great ugly warg with splotchy brown fur pounce in his direction. He raised the tip of his spear, and felt the warg come down on the point, and he saw the tip pierce the beast's breast. Its weight was great though, and it snapped the shaft; Groso dove out of the way before it came crashing down on the spot he previously stood.

The goblin rose from the ground from where he was tossed, and drew held his short sword in the air. Like lightning he shuffled to where the young hobbit lay senseless and he set his sword to his throat. He pushed on the blade and then with a gurgle in his throat, he stiffened and fell on top of the hobbit.

The rank smell emanating from the corpse was enough to rouse the hobbit; he pushed the body off of him, and Hungolin was there with a bow in one hand, and the freehand he offered to the hobbit. The hobbit took his hand and was pulled to his feet.

"Take this!" Hungolin said, offering the hobbit a dagger from his belt.

Groso took the short blade, and Hungolin strung an arrow and let it fly. It hit a rampant warg in the eye, and it dropped. He retreated back to where he could arch without interruption.

By now there were only around a dozen of the original guessed number of seventy five wargs left alive, and the riders belonging to the dead were scampering around and poking at whatever moved.

Groso saw a goblin bend over a hobbit and slash down. Tears in his eyes, he charged the goblin and tackled it do the ground. The goblin flipped over and pinned Groso under it. The goblin wrapped his hands around the hobbit's throat and began to squeeze the life out of him.

The dagger that Hungolin had given him was still held loosely in his grasp. Mustering all of his strength, Groso brought the dagger up and cut the goblin's throat. Black blood spilled out and onto Groso's front, causing him to gag.

As Groso stood and recovered from his ordeal, he saw the goblins fall back a short ways and begin to regroup and establish order. There were few of the evil creatures left, but they were sure they could take the hobbits.

Núrild stood behind in front of him, and he seemed to be doing the same as the goblins and trying to rally the hobbits, who had suffered badly from the initial attack. There was blood running down his face from a large gash above his eye, but he took no notice of it.

Hungolin was looking no worse for the wear and seemed to be untouched by the battle. His quiver was empty and his bow discarded long ago; he moved among the confusion of the sudden retreat like a ghost, picking off stragglers and finishing off the wounded. He was moving with such speed that his brown cloak billowed behind him, though the wind was still.

A strong hand grasped the back of Groso's shirt and pulled him easily back for several yards before releasing him. He found himself in the frontline of the regrouped hobbit force.

A fire had been awoken inside the hobbits around him. Their eyes were dark, and their faces steeled. They were battered and beaten, but they would not give up. They were every one of them ready to die for their homes. The stout woman on his left was sporting a gashed arm, but she paid it no mind; the adrenaline running through all of them left them numb and ready for action.

Only a small number of the hobbits still held a spear, but many of them had instead picked up goblin blades after the last of the wargs was killed; Núrild removing its head with a broad sweep of his elven sword.

"Hobbits. Charge!"

The hobbits charged, and so did the goblins. They were both groups, in an uneven line; half of it being made up of fighters weary almost up to the point of passing out.

The hobbits could see nothing through the huge cloud of dust that the goblins were kicking up, so when the goblins shrieked and began to flee in all directions, they couldn't understand why.

Through the dust stepped Legolas, and beside him, Dúnovain. A dark shadow formed behind them in the dust, and as it cleared the combined forces of the other two hobbit armies stood. Legolas' and Dúnovain's men looked far worse than Núrild's. They were all limping along at a slow pace and many were bleeding freely and were white as a winter snow.

There was a mighty cheer from all. Even the Elves joined in, for the hobbits had tasted battle and victory; despite the casualties, they had a morale boost, for they had driven back the goblin's first wave.

They immediately set about tending to the wounded, clearing the dead hobbits, and burning the goblin and warg corpses.

"This is nothing; a small victory," Legolas said to Núrild. "If you can even call this a victory; look at this Núrild, they can't do this."

"They will have a much harder time of it if you already give it up as a lost cause," Núrild said.

"Look at the losses. The hobbits suffered greatly."

"All armies suffer great losses, but they do not give up."

Legolas bowed his head to the elf and retreated to help the wounded.

"We will need more than a miracle if we are to succeed here," he mutters to himself.


End file.
